


Dean Loses Control

by GlassRoom



Series: Dean and Cas [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Out of Control, Rage, Self Harm, unable to stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRoom/pseuds/GlassRoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something snaps in Dean and he loses control, Castiel helps him out</p><p>This chapter will make more sense if you read the one before it ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Loses Control

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING - depiction of self harm and extreme anger/rage/fury directed at nobody

Dean looked up when Sam entered the room with beer. He watched as a small smile crept up on his brother's face at the sight of Cas reclining on his belly on a giant pile of pillows, wings splayed out and relaxed, Dean on the floor in front of the couch with his legs under Cas' wing. “Beer, thanks,” Dean smiled as Sam handed him one. “You can pick the movie after...well, after.” It was going to be a while before the kitchen incident faded.

“You guys comfortable 'cause I'm taking the whole couch,” Sam informed them as he sprawled out on the couch above Dean. “And we're watching a comedy. Nothing with sex.” Sam's tone was final. Dean was grateful. Cas relaxed slightly as well.

Sam clicked on a movie and before long the three were laughing at it. Dean watched Cas' wings about as much as he watched the movie. He noticed that when Cas laughed, the light in the wings pulsed a bit. Dean started to wonder if Cas was sad would the light dim, and what would the light do when he was angry? After a bit Dean started grooming the wings absently. Cas turned slightly to look at him when he started and gave the nod of approval for Dean to continue.

At one point Sam let his hand drape over the edge of the couch and onto the wing that didn't have Dean underneath. With a flick of his fingers he also started to mindlessly groom the wing, seeking out dead feathers. Cas turned to look at Sam questioningly. “Sorry,” Sam exclaimed, yanking his hand back. “Habit when I have a wing in front of me.”

Cas nodded slightly. “I don't mind if Dean doesn't mind,” Cas approved. 

Sam glanced at Dean who gave a dismissive wave. “If it's ok with Cas it's ok with me. Cas does his own on the inside though, so only do the back feathers.” Dean said with a hint of warning.

“Maybe you can help him there, Dean, but I won't.” Sam quipped. “Not even maybe. No. That's much too personal.” Sam saw his brother's brow crease trying to figure out what Sam meant. “It's the difference between me combing the hair on your head and combing the hair around your-”

“Got it.” They went back to searching for dead feathers. “Hey...why does Lucifer have sharp edges on his feathers and yours are soft?” Dean asked after a while, ignoring the movie.

It was Sam who answered. “Lucifer can make his sharp as a weapon if he wants to. But at rest they are soft like Cas'. Different, but still soft.”

“Different?' Cas asked. “And I can make mine sharp too, but I'd rather not demonstrate.”

“Yeah, different. Yours are soft and kind of...fluffy. Lucifer's are more silky I think. Longer for sure.” Sam fingered a longer feather. “Also Lucifer's are straighter, Cas yours are kind of...bendy. Like wavy hair almost. Not something noticeable when you look at the whole wing, but some feathers have a kind of curve. Thanks for not demonstrating the sharpness, I don't really want cuts everywhere,” he added.

“What else is different about them?” Dean added more feathers to the little pile between the brothers.

Sam thought as he groomed and watched the movie. “Colour and size, obviously. I've never seen freckles, though. Cas does any other angel have spotted wings like yours?”

“No, not that I know of. Maybe they do but the spots are a similar colour to the wings. Mine just stand out because the feathers are blue and the spots are white.”

“Blue like your eyes,” Dean mused, examining a feather before setting it down.

Sam cracked open another beer, giving one to his brother as well. “Beer Cas?” He declined.

Sam slid off the couch, tucking himself under the wing like Dean. “Is this ok? I can reach the feathers better this way,” Sam asked a bit late. Cas shrugged and nodded, attention mostly on the movie. 

While Sam groomed with efficiency Dean marvelled at each feather that fell out. Dean was finding it a bit hypnotic to turn over every feather, testing for softness, shape, colour, and speckles against the one he'd just discarded. Dean noticed Sam was watching him examine every feather he pulled out. “What? They're so beautiful, I've never seen anything like them,” he said defensively.

Sam added a couple more feathers to the pile. “Dean. You can't keep them,” he cautioned.

Cas whipped his head around to look at Dean while pulling his wings in tight to his back. “Dean,” Cas warned.

Dean startled. He'd never seen that particular look on Cas' face. His jaw was set and his eyes held a terrifying storm just under the surface. A cold worm of fear worked its way through Dean at the implications of Cas being angry with him. “I just...they're...” he was having trouble assembling his thoughts. “Stop looking at me like that!” he demanded of Cas. There was no change in Cas' expression as Dean removed the feathers he'd been hiding under his thigh and added them to the pile. 

“Is that all of them?” Cas asked in a tight, controlled voice.

Dean simply nodded, too frightened of Cas to speak and too pissed off with himself for being scared. Something pierced the anger brewing in his mind, almost like something was probing him. Immediately he created walls in his mind and shut down his emotions. “Get out of my head Cas,” Dean stated flatly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam's eyebrows fly up as he backed away from the two of them slightly.

“Guys, maybe calm down a little,” Sam tried. Neither Dean nor Cas made any motion of having heard Sam.

“You stay out of my head. I said there are no more, so there are no more. You have to trust me.” Dean said through a clenched jaw. 

“Do _NOT_ bring trust into this Dean. You have no idea the wrath that can be brought down if one of my feathers makes it into the wrong hands.” Cas turned to face Dean fully, his wings narrowing in on themselves. 

“Guys,” Sam tried again, taking in the state of Cas' wings. They were starting to resemble two fat, curved swords laying on Cas' back. The feathers lost their fluffiness, now they were sleek and tight against each other so the light barely showed through. Sam watched as Cas created a sharp edge to the feathers.

“Well maybe if you had _told me_ that then I would have _known_ and I wouldn't have tried to _keep them!_ ” Dean shouted. He could feel tears welling up which only made him more angry.

“Maybe if you had _asked_ instead of just _hiding_ them I would have had the _chance_ to tell you!” Cas boomed.

“You know what? Fuck this. I've had _enough._ ” Rage boiled under the surface of his skin. “This has been a shit day. I'm fucking done.” Dean jerked himself upright.

“Really? The first sign of confrontation and you are going to _leave?_ ” Cas was suddenly standing, blocking Dean's path and somehow appearing double his size. “Did I give you _permission_ to exit the room?” Cas asked dangerously.

“Perm- _**what!??**_ ” Dean felt his world rip in two inside him. He was blisteringly angry with Cas and extremely turned on at the very idea of needing to ask permission. For a brief second he was positive his heart stopped beating at the strain of keeping his two worlds together. He saw Sam mouthing something but all he could hear was the roaring in his ears. It was too much. The adrenaline was flooding through him, choking off any thought. Without further comment he backed away, staring at Castiel through a haze of betrayal for treating him this way in front of his brother. When he was able, he turned around, fury propelling his legs to the workout room.

The first thing he did when he arrived in the room was pick up the empty barbell. Holding it like a baseball bat he found himself in front of one of the floor to ceiling mirrors. All he saw was a man with rough edges, sharp corners, ugly features...and then nothingness. Just colour and pattern holding a bar. Nothing of any value was reflected back at him. The tidal wave of rage returned, beginning its ascent in his feet swiftly overtaking his legs and torso. In the seconds it took to reach his shoulders it had become a tsunami. With a cry that tore his throat open he let the rage take his arms and smash the barbell into the mirror.

It was astonishing how satisfying it felt. The shattering glass sounded perfect in his mind. Hundreds, _thousands,_ of bits of glass pounded against each other, destroying each other as they fell to the floor. Perfection created addiction. More was required. Dean spun around and flung the bar into the next mirror. Screaming with violence he aimed the bar at the larger slices of mirror that fell to the floor. Every tinkle, every crash, every shatter, added to the need to hear more, louder, screeching noise. His mind screamed for more sharpness. He flung the barbell across the room in favour of a dumbbell. Holding it vertically he used the blunt end as a manual jackhammer, smashing every last piece of mirror on the floor. He crushed them until the pieces were reduced to grit under his feet, then he finally collapsed on his knees. Unable to hold himself fully upright he fell forward, letting go of the dumbbell and landing on his hands. He only vaguely registered the powdered mirror biting into his palms.

There he remained, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, gently grinding his palms into the grit. The sharp sensation in his palms kept him from completely retreating into his mind. A sob escaped him. The room needed cleaning. He had to clean it. He could not leave it. Resignation forced his shoulders to round down as he got his feet under him. Numbness accompanied him in retrieving a broom and dustpan. Sparks of pain in his palms kept him working to sweep the room. It was not enough. Towels were needed. And so towels were fetched, some moistened, some dry. Using the dry towels he hand swept the walls where there once held reflection. A fingernail wrapped in a dry towel slid through the frame of the absent mirror to collect every shard remaining. Moist towels then cleaned the floor of the dust left behind from sweeping. Setting the barbell and dumbbell in place he grabbed the towels and left the room, not checking his work, not wanting to see the aftermath.

His body dumped the adrenaline and unshed sweat into his bladder, forcing him to the washroom where he did his business. After flushing he stood at the sink and looked at his ruined hands. Bits of mirror were embedded in the callouses, raw pads ached and stung. Knowing there was a mirror at eye level he kept his head down, focusing on the grime that had developed around the tap. His muscles creaked as he reached into the cupboard for the cleaner and a face cloth. His hands screamed as he plunged the cloth under running water and wrung it out. First, the taps needed cleaning. Then the sink. Scrubbing every corner, every plane, every join, he got the sink to gleam. Standing back to see his work he saw the tiles were spattered with bathroom use. 

A shaky sigh was the only noise he made as he sprayed cleaner on the tile, scrubbed, sprayed, scrubbed...until every tile on every surface shone, each shower stall shining, every strip of grout renewed to its whiteness. Knowing he wasn't done he moved his heavy head to the tub and saw the soap scum lining the inside. Grabbing a new face cloth he set to work on making the tub glisten. Exhausted, he sat on his heels and saw the toilets. Holding back a well of tears he unwrapped a new toothbrush to clean around the bolts on the floor, each rib of the water line, and under the rim of the bowls. Finally finished he stripped his clothes off and stepped into a shower to clean himself.

He made sure every square inch of skin was scrubbed raw. Ignoring the constant shrieking of his palms he lathered soap and shampoo, scrubbing and rinsing until there was nothing left to remove. Only then did he turn off the shower, rubbing the walls and taps with the towel first to keep the continuity of a clean bathroom before drying himself. As he wrapped the towel around his waist he saw Sam enter a toilet stall. Defeat tugged at Dean's shoulders, slumping them forwards. He waited for Sam to finish. He wanted Sam to just leave. 

“Dean. Are you ok?” Sam's soft voice slid into Dean's sensitive ears.

Dean knew Sam was being kind and was concerned. He understood that Sam wanted to help. But Sam didn't know. Sam could never possibly know this abyss within Dean, and Dean never wanted to soil Sam with that knowledge, so he nodded. A silent assent in hopes Sam would leave. He kept his eyes on the floor, tracing the newly cleaned area. He made sure his palms remained turned away so Sam could not assess the damage he created.

“Dean. You need to stop.” Sam's voice was firm.

“Yeah Sammy I will,” he croaked, still not raising his eyes. There was a pause, then he heard Sam leave. Dean waited to make sure he wasn't returning, then with robotic movements he opened another toothbrush and cleaned the toilet Sam had used. When he was done he washed his hands thoroughly, making sure to get under the fingernails. Then he gathered his clothes and the towels he'd taken from the workout room and carried them to his bedroom.

He wanted to lie down. On the bed would be ideal. First he had to clean the mess Cas had made with his wings. _Cas._ The sharp beginning of the name opening into a yell and closing with a hiss. _Cas. Cas. Cas._ Something tried to filter up through the barrier he'd erected inside himself. _Cas._ He shoved it down as far as he could. Clothes and towels dumped into a pile he began putting things away. His knives went back on the shelf, largest to smallest, left to right. His books placed back on the ledge, sorted by genre, alphabetized within the genre by author's last name. Miscellaneous items placed neatly, facing forward, spaced correctly. Only then did he notice his bed. His bed had one pillow. There were two this morning. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing so he dressed. Underwear – sob – comfy pants – sob – socks – sob – soft shirt the colour of Cas' eyes – clench. _There will be no more crying. That's enough._

The clothes were dirty. There were dirty cleaning rags mixed in with the clothes. Some towels held mirror dust. One load. No, two. He got everything into his arms and headed for the laundry room, noting Cas' closed bedroom door on the way. Laundry. Easy task, predictable outcome. Sort. Towels and rags. Jeans with towels. Shirts, underwear, socks. Cas' shirt. Cas' underwear. Cas everywhere. He set the machine. He stared at it. Tried to read the mysteries of the universe in the dust particles resting on the surface. Dust. A quick wipe with the towel he'd used on himself. Rubbed the streaks out. Made it shine. 

The feeling washed over Dean like a vengeance. Thirst. Parched. His throat was a desert. Water. He needed water. The kitchen had water. He somehow got himself to the kitchen sink. The energy to fill a glass was almost overwhelming. First he had to find a clean glass. Then turn on the tap. Wait for the right temperature. No. Something else nagged at Dean's mind. Bottle. There were water bottles. In the fridge. So far away from where he was standing. He wanted to collapse to the floor under the monumental task of getting to the fridge. Instead he gripped the sink edge for a moment.

“Dean.” Sam's voice again. It was too much effort to turn his head. Sam would keep talking. “Dean. You need to stop. Now.” Such kindness. More than he deserved. No matter how much he cleaned, he could not erase the damage he'd done to the mirrors. The guilt at the destruction almost knocked him off his feet. 

“I will Sammy,” he said aloud, finishing in his head; _but first the kitchen is dirty. There is scum around the sink. The cupboards need wiping and the floor is sticky in spots. I'll stop. I will. Soon._

Dean remembered his thirst as he heard Sam's footsteps retreat. With a push he got off the sink edge and over to the fridge. Water. There it was. As he reached down his back complained at the angle. Twisting the top off was murderous on his hands. But the sweet liquid sluicing down his throat was bliss. When the bottle was empty he dragged it over to the counter and set it down. The counter where Lucifer did the- _no. Not thinking about that._ An unending wave of exhaustion flowed through Dean but he fought it. _Just for a while,_ he thought. _First, I have to get the sink clean._ He reached under the sink, looking for a cloth, when he heard Cas.

“Dean. Stop. Look at me.” Cas sounded commanding to Dean's ears. Commanding like Dean should obey. Fuck that. Dean wet the cloth in preparation of scrubbing. “Dean.” Cas was closer now. Dean had not looked up yet. Why bother? He knew Cas was angry. He knew he deserved it by taking the feathers. “Dean.” There was a hand on top of his, not allowing him to use the cloth. Dean saw his hand drop the cloth in the sink.

“What.” Dean had no emotion left. It was gone. Only a shell remained.

Cas manoeuvred himself between Dean and the sink, forcing Dean to step back. Dean tried to retreat farther, but Cas used his wings to pin Dean in place. He felt Cas slide his arms around him and pull him into a hug. Dean was shocked at the surge of emotion coming from nowhere and everywhere. _I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry._

“Dean.” Cas' voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating Dean's in return. _I will not cry. I will not cry._ Cas enclosed Dean completely, one arm around his lower back, one arm snaking around his mid and upper back. Dean felt his own arms reach up and grip Cas' shoulders. _I will not cry. I will not cry._ Softness enshrouded Dean. He glanced up and saw the wings were surrounding them completely, cocooning them from the world. His head fell to Cas' shoulder. Cas leaned his head on Dean's and exhaled, long and low. With his exhale Dean felt all the hard, sharp parts of him leave. The levee broke. He cried. Deep, gut-wrenching, forlorn sobs that wracked his body. 

Cas rocked him gently, pulling the hurt out slowly with his grace. When Dean was empty, when the cries subsided to sniffles, when his grip was less intense, Cas flooded Dean with joy. Dean basked in it. Dean bathed in it. Dean accepted all of it willingly. As the hitching in his chest levelled out he heard Cas murmuring words he never thought applied to him. Words like good, kind, love, beautiful, smart, gentle. The words became short sentences that Dean held onto. Sentences like good man, kind brother, protective brother, loving boyfriend, intelligent man, good son. Dean decided in a flash that this was what he wanted to believe. This was what he wanted to become. “Please help me keep this,” he asked of Cas, whispering in case he sounded too demanding, whispering in case it was too much to ask. 

“Of course. I love you. I love you as you are, I love you for who you used to be, I love you for who you will become.” Cas kissed Dean's hair. “I will help you in any way I can.”

Dean slumped with relief against Cas. “I'm so sorry,” he murmured into Cas' shoulders.

“What could you possibly be sorry for?” Cas' wonder sounded genuine to Dean.

Dean let himself be rocked some more while he gathered his thoughts and breathed Cas' scent. “I'm sorry for causing so much trouble. You are trying to heal and here I am making it hard for you. I should be making it easier.” Dean couldn't help the tears that slipped out. He turned his head so that he was facing away from Cas but still holding on tight.

Cas nosed Dean's head until he turned back. Without letting go, Cas leaned in to kiss Dean gently. “You are not making it harder. You have done more than I could ever have hoped. I feel better simply having you in the room.” 

Dean rolled that over in his mind for a while, loosening his grip a little. “Cas,” he asked hesitantly. “Why is your pillow not on my bed any more?” Dean braced himself for the answer that Cas didn't want to share a room.

“You were very angry at me. I thought you wanted to have some time alone. I thought it would be better if you didn't feel like you needed to tell me.”

 _Well, that does make sense,_ Dean thought. “You were really freaking angry at me too.” Dean let his hands slide down Cas' arms, relaxing a bit in his hold.

Cas loosened his grip as well. “After you...left...Lucifer showed himself. He'd been watching. He explained to Sam and I that he needed me to be angry. Very angry. His first thought was to hurt you,” Cas gripped Dean a bit harder, going rigid in Dean's arms for a heartbeat before relaxing again. “But he thought a fight would be better advised.”

“Huh. What an asshat.” Cas hummed in agreement. “Wait. So he manipulated us again? I need to seriously sit down with him and explain what 'consent' is.” Dean released his hold on Cas, who let him go but kept a hand on his arm.

“No need. He said that would be the last time. Sam assured me that he doesn't lie and that he will honour any agreement.” Cas brought his wings down slowly, gauging Dean as he did. “Are you all right?” Cas was staring intently at Dean as he folded his wings behind him.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Dean looked at his palms. “You healed me,” he said with awe.

Cas smiled, lighting up his eyes. “Of course. Dean? What's wrong?” Cas' brow furrowed at the distant look on Dean's face.

“Nothing. I just...nothing. It's good.” Dean dropped his hands and looked away.

Cas watched him closely. “Did you want the pain?” 

Dean nodded slightly. “It helps me remember,” he mumbled. “But it's ok. It's good.”

“How about next time I will ask if you want to be healed. That way you can keep some of it if you want to.” Dean mumbled his thanks while staring at the floor. “But Dean,” Cas waited for Dean to look up. “I don't like this. I don't like you hurting yourself. Are you willing to find another way?”

Dean thought about it. “Yeah. Yeah I am. With you. Yeah.” Dean fidgeted while he thought about the implications of all that. He never even considered the possibility that someone else would be affected when he gave himself a little pain. “Hey, did Lucifer get what he wanted out of our anger?” Dean asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Cas relaxed some more, slipping his hand into Dean's. “The welts are gone and shouldn't come back. Rehab begins tomorrow after breakfast apparently.”

“Good. I mean, good that he got what he wanted. And good that we can move on, I guess.” Dean squeezed Cas' hand.

“I understand what you meant. Time for bed?” Cas suggested. “It's been a long day.”

“Yeah no shit.” Dean cast a look in the direction of the laundry room. “Um, you go. I'll meet you there. In my room, I mean, if you want. I just want to finish the laundry.”

“Can you leave it?” Cas examined Dean closely through slightly squinted eyes.

Dean shifted around a bit. “No,” he finally admitted. “I need to finish it. There's only one load left. It won't take long.”

Cas' face cleared up. “Then I will wait with you. Come on, the washer's done the load. I heard the timer a while back.”

“Thank you,” Dean breathed. “And thanks for...um...I feel better. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Cas planted a kiss on Dean's forehead, pulling him towards the laundry room. He stepped aside to let Dean get the load into the dryer and the next into the washer. While they waited for the loads to finish Cas held Dean, stroking his arms and back, kissing him softly. Dean melted into Cas, letting him do as he pleased. In a small corner of Dean's mind he admitted he liked it. He liked feeling as though Cas had everything under control and all he had to do was the task at hand.

When the clothes were all dried and put away, Cas put his pillow back in Dean's room. Dean did his nighttime routine while Cas stayed nearby but out of the way. Back in Dean's bed they curled up again so that Cas wasn't on his back. Cas splayed a wing out as a blanket again, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from Dean at the feeling of warmth and safety. Cas continued kissing Dean lightly, murmuring soft praises, and stroking his chest and arms until Dean slid into sleep.


End file.
